


Melted Honey

by GreyMichaela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Future Destiel, Lucifer is not a Good Person, M/M, post O Brother Where Art Thou, references to rape and torture, sort of, they're not together yet but they will be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is in the Cage, being tortured by Lucifer. He's given up on rescue at this point, and he certainly doesn't expect who shows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melted Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my darlings! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've put anything new up. I've been busy with my original fiction, getting it all whipped into shape and ready to shop to publishers, but after last week's episode, I couldn't _not_ fix it.
> 
> I've rated this M because there are references to the horrible things that Lucifer does to Sam. There is no explicit sex shown, though.

_Cold. So cold._ Sam hunched his shoulders and blew on his hands, trying desperately to get some feeling back into them. There was hoarfrost in his hair, stinging his eyes and numbing his nose.

Lucifer was monologuing in front of where Sam was crouched in the corner of the cage, seemingly unaware of the fact that Sam was in danger of freezing to death.

“All I wanted was my due,” he said for probably the thirtieth time, swinging around to bend over and grab a handful of Sam’s hair, yanking his head back.

Sam gritted his teeth, clutching his knees as tears sprang to his eyes at the flare of pain in his scalp. Lucifer was inches away, and he seemed to be waiting for an answer.

Sam cast back desperately over the last few things Lucifer had said but he couldn’t remember a question. He opened and closed his mouth, refusing to beg for mercy and knowing he wasn’t far from it.

Lucifer sighed loudly, breath gusting hot and sulfurous across Sam’s face. “I don’t remember you being this slow before,” he said, his hand tightening.

Tears leaked from the corners of Sam’s eyes but he didn’t move. _Dean’s coming for me. He’ll get Cas, they’ll be here any minute_ —

Lucifer let go of his hair and backhanded him across the mouth, sending him sprawling across the bitterly cold floor of the cage. Sam got his hands underneath him just as Lucifer’s foot came down between his shoulder blades, pressing him down again.

Sam gasped for air as Lucifer’s heel dug in viciously and he caught another handful of Sam’s hair, pulling his head up and back.

Sam’s back bowed and he choked on a scream, scrabbling desperately on the smooth floor for purchase as Lucifer ground down with his foot and pulled on his hair.

“Say it, Sam,” Lucifer whispered in his ear.

“Fuck you,” Sam spat. He lost consciousness in the beating that followed, falling gratefully into oblivion.

He woke up curled on the floor, aching all over. He had no idea how long he’d been out—time had very little meaning here. All he knew was that it had been several years at least.

Lucifer had spent the first year violating Sam in every way possible, making him beg, forcing him to describe what Lucifer was doing to him and how much he was enjoying it.

Sam had swallowed the blood in his mouth and lied, because he’d quickly found out that the alternative was worse.

The second year, Lucifer had decided it was time for Sam to worship him.

“Since you won’t say the words I want to hear,” he’d said, lounging indolently against the bars, “you’ll just have to put your mouth to better use.”

Sam had swallowed nausea and obeyed.

The third year, Lucifer was getting fed up with Sam’s resistance and began to amuse himself by seeing how much skin he could remove without disturbing the blood vessels beneath.

“It takes a surgical touch,” he told Sam, who was fighting sobs beneath him. “Would you stop _squirming_ already? Otherwise I’ll just have to heal you and start over from scratch _again_.”

The fourth year, Lucifer had an attack of nostalgia and decided he wanted to hear his old names.

“They worshiped me, you know,” he told Sam, who was huddled in his usual corner. “Humans. They gave me such gorgeous names—names have power, Sam, you know that. Every time they gave me another name, I got just a little stronger.”

Sam blinked slowly, his thoughts sluggish. Lucifer made an annoyed noise and Sam forced himself upright. He knew that noise, and nothing good ever followed it.

“Pay _attention_ ,” Lucifer snarled. “Names, Sam. Tell me my names.”

Sam worked moisture into his mouth. He’d stopped praying for help, stopped dreaming that Castiel or Dean would blast their prison to bits and drag him out of there. It hurt too much to hope, so he didn’t think about rescue anymore.

“Lucifer,” he croaked. “The… Morningstar.”

Lucifer smiled, slow and languorous, and made a motion for him to continue.

Sam cast about in his memory desperately. He knew this, but making his brain cooperate was the real trick.

“Lightbringer,” he whispered. “Ruler of Demons, Most… Unclean.”

Lucifer shuddered, rolling his shoulders as if he was being stroked. “Keep going,” he purred.

“Son of Perdition.” Sam stopped to cough blood. Lucifer healed the worst of his injuries, but he liked to keep a few. Right now, Sam had at least three broken ribs and he suspected he was hemorrhaging from his liver, but he also knew he couldn’t hope for death. When it became too much, Lucifer would heal him and tell him to say the words, that it would all stop if he’d just say what Lucifer wanted to hear.

Lucifer’s blow knocked Sam’s head back against the bars and his ears rang as more pain shivered through him.

“I didn’t say to stop,” Lucifer hissed.

“Roaring… Lion,” Sam gasped. “Prince—” He spat blood on the floor. “Prince of the Power of… the Air.”

“Better,” Lucifer said. He paced in front of Sam’s crouching form. “Plenty more, my sweet. Keep going.”

“Prince of Darkness,” Sam managed.

“Oldie but a goodie,” Lucifer agreed.

“The Great Dragon.” Sam’s vision was fuzzing at the edges. He suspected he was minutes from blacking out again.

“Just say it, Sam,” Lucifer said, suddenly an inch from Sam’s nose. “All you have to do is say yes, and all this stops. The pain, the blood, the fire, the torture—it all goes away and you and I… well, we’ll rule the world, won’t we?”

“Father… of _Lies_ ,” Sam spat. A gust of wind rocked the cage as he braced himself for a blow, arms over his head, but it never landed. Sam lowered his arms and looked up.

Exhausted from pain and blood loss, it took him a minute to process that Lucifer’s back was to him, facing the far corner of the cage. Sam blinked blood and sweat out of his eyes and tried to focus. He couldn’t see much past Lucifer’s legs, just a glowing shape in the darkness of—another person?

 _Dean_ , was Sam’s first thought, followed closely with the slightly hysterical realization that Dean didn’t normally _glow_. It didn’t matter who it was, really. “No,” he choked out, dragging himself to his knees. “Get out, you can’t—he’ll kill y—” Lucifer kicked him in the stomach without turning, and Sam folded over, retching helplessly.

He landed on his side, coughing up more blood, and watched through hazy eyes as Lucifer cocked his head, considering the new arrival, who still hadn’t spoken. Was it Castiel?

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Lucifer mused. “You always did have another trick up your sleeve, didn’t you?”

The stranger was made of light, it seemed. He glowed with a fierceness that hurt Sam’s eyes and made it impossible to look directly at him.

He spoke and Sam cowered beneath the onslaught of the voice, like a high and wild chiming of bells, a thunder of trumpets, the words spat like the beating of spears against shields, fierce and dangerous and triumphant.

“ _Sam Winchester is not yours._ ”

Lucifer laughed and launched himself forward, moving so fast he was a blur. The two collided with a crash that shook the cage, and Sam curled in a ball in the corner, making himself as small as he could as Lucifer and the stranger battled back and forth across the floor.

A stray blow bounced off the bar just above Sam’s head, and he tucked himself into an even smaller bundle, unable to pray, afraid to give life to the flicker of hope that was trying to light itself in his chest.

Lucifer stumbled backward, a foot landing squarely on Sam’s broken ribs. Sam stifled a scream around the fist he shoved in his mouth as the stranger grabbed Lucifer’s shirt and flung him across the cage. Lucifer hit the bars on the other side with a thud that hurt Sam’s ears, but the stranger was already kneeling next to him.

When he spoke, his voice didn’t hurt Sam’s head. “Deep breath for me, kiddo, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

Sam blinked, trying to muster a response, but it was too late. Strong hands gripped him, hauling him upright and tossing him over one shoulder as if Sam’s six foot four frame weighed nothing at all. Sam choked on another scream as his broken ribs were driven deeper into his soft tissue, hanging helplessly in place, the stranger holding his hip to keep him there.

Lucifer was struggling to his feet, rage twisting his features into an unrecognizable snarl. “ _He is mine_.”

“He belongs to _himself_ , you complete _twatwaffle_ ,” the stranger snapped, and Sam lost consciousness.

 

He floated in the black, warm and free of pain for the first time in far too long.

 _Sam_.

The voice was familiar, evoking memories of late afternoon sunlight, honeyed whiskey, the sharp-sweet smell of pine, the crackles and pops of an early winter fire.

_Come on back now, kiddo. Your brother’s going out of his mind._

Sam didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay here, in the warmth, the safety, with the voice that wrapped around him like the softest blanket.

 _I know, Sam_. The voice sounded sad, and that made Sam feel sad too. He didn’t want to make the voice unhappy.

_You couldn’t, sweetheart. And I want to stay here too. But here’s not where you’re supposed to be. You need to come back._

No. _Back_ was pain. _Back_ was blood and agony and endless screaming, and Sam couldn’t do that again. He was weak. He’d say yes, he knew he would.

_No you wouldn’t._

Sam wanted to burrow into the voice, let it surround and saturate him.

 _I like the sound of that, although I’m not sure how it would work._ Now the voice sounded amused, and Sam was pleased. _Oh no, no you don’t. Sam, you need to wake up._

_Dean is crying, Sam. He’s beside you on your bed right now, holding your hand and crying big, fat tears that he will deny on his own deathbed. Because you need to come back._

Dean. Sam remembered Dean. Green eyes, cocky grin, perfect aim, first into battle, as long as he was in front of Sam, shielding him with his own body.

_That’s right, Sam. He loves you, and he’s going to need you. I got you out, but Lucifer’s still alive and the cage is weakened. He’s going to get himself out of there soon enough, and we’re gonna need you in fighting trim for this one._

He couldn’t. He couldn’t face Lucifer again. Dean could do it. Dean was stronger than him, tougher and braver in every way.

_That’s not true. You’re the strongest human I’ve ever met._

No.

 _Yes you are._ The voice brooked no argument.

He was broken. He didn’t want to go back to a broken mind and body. Why couldn’t he stay where he was, with the voice and the warmth and the black?

_I’ve mended your body, and your mind is safe. You’re still you. You are Sam, and Sam is so awesome. Now wake up, Sam. Wake up and come back to those who love you._

Sam opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. There were several blankets piled on top of him, a warm body pressed against his side. The familiar weight and scent told him it was Dean before he even turned his head to see his brother’s face, slack in sleep, tearstains on his cheeks.

Sam turned his head the other way, moving in increments, waiting for pain that never materialized, and saw Castiel sitting in a chair beside the bed, staring at his hands. Sam took a deep breath, trying to remember how to use his voice, and Dean jolted upright.

“Sam? Sammy? You’re awake, Cas, he’s awake, _look_ , Sam, _talk to me_ —”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed, as Castiel cut in abruptly. “ _Dean._ ”

Dean shut up. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding subdued. “Cas, is he okay? Can you… scan him or whatever?”

Sam felt two cool fingertips on his forehead and he flinched a little, clutching the blanket, but nothing happened and after a moment Castiel removed his hand.

“He is whole,” Castiel said. “But he is still fragile. Go easy.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Sammy, can you talk? Can you understand me?”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel sounded annoyed.

“I’m going easy!” Dean protested. “I need to know where he is mentally, okay?”

Sam gathered his mental reserves and opened his eyes. “Hey,” he whispered.

Tears sprang to Dean’s eyes and he smiled down at him. “Took you fucking long enough,” he managed, and cleared his throat as he rolled off the bed. “I’m going to make you something to eat,” he said over his shoulder, and disappeared down the hall.

Castiel leaned forward and Sam turned his head to meet his eyes.

“Who—” Sam’s vocal cords felt rusted and he had to stop to swallow. “Was it—you?”

Castiel shook his head. “I do not have the strength to pull you whole from the cage.”

“My soul—” Sam said suddenly.

“Is intact,” Castiel said, holding his eyes. “I promise you, Sam, you are whole in body and soul alike.”

“ _Who_?” Sam repeated, clutching the blanket until his knuckles were white. “Cas, who saved me?”

“I suspect he will tell you when he’s ready,” Castiel said gently as Dean barged back into the room with a mug in his hand, wisping steam rising from it.

“I made you some tea, because I know how much you like that shit,” he said, setting it on the table beside the bed. He hovered over Sam as Sam pushed himself to a sitting position, still braced for pain that didn’t appear, made sure he wasn’t going to tip over, and then vanished back out the door, heading for the kitchen again.

“He does fuss,” Castiel said, affection rich in his voice.

Sam just took a sip of tea.

 

He was feeling well enough to get out of bed by the following evening, still weak and a little shaky but otherwise fine. Dean followed him everywhere, that anxious puppy look in his eyes, until Sam snapped at him.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean, I’m not going to shatter, back _off_.”

Dean took a step back, hurt filling his eyes, but he said nothing. He just watched as Sam left the room, one careful step at a time, and headed out of the bunker.

He didn’t go far. He suspected he didn’t have the _strength_ to go far. So he crawled onto Baby’s sun-warmed hood, rubbing the sleek metal with his palm as he scooted into position against her windshield and tilted his head back to look up at the stars.

The night was warm around him, stars flung in a careless spangle above him against the velvet black sky. Birds chirped sleepily in the trees behind the bunker and cicadas were warming up for their nightly concert.

Sam took a deep breath and let the peace fill him, closing his eyes.

“There aren’t many beings powerful enough to do what you did,” he said without opening his eyes.

The night got very quiet suddenly but Sam didn’t move, didn’t look up. He just waited, and after a moment, there was a tiny _whuff_ of displaced air beside him as someone appeared next to him on the Impala’s hood.

Sam laced his hands over his stomach, eyes still closed. “I shouldn’t be sane,” he said conversationally. “I should be a drooling mess. Lucifer was close to breaking me, I know he was. No one can walk away from trauma of that magnitude and be functional after.”

“No,” a familiar voice said. “No one can.”

Sam almost smiled but he didn’t look. “So how come I am?”

“You know how Death put that wall in your head?” the voice asked. Warm, golden sunshine, honey and whiskey and _home_. Sam wanted to crawl into his lap, burrow in close and never leave, but he just nodded. “Walls can come down,” the other man continued. “They’re too… brittle. So instead, I sort of… insulated your cage memories. Think of them as being wrapped in cotton wool. They’re still there. I can’t take them away without erasing _you_ , so they have to stay. But you’re safe from them. You won’t have flashbacks, but if you think about your time in the cage too hard, you _will_ access them, so… don’t.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Sam said quietly. He let his hand slip off his stomach and rest palm-up between them, and then he waited.

After a long, agonizing moment, he felt warm fingers touch his palm, soft and hesitant, and Sam closed his hand around them, sighed, turned his head, and finally opened his eyes.

Gabriel’s hair was shorter, his golden eyes sad and more lines carved in his forehead and around his mouth, but it was still undeniably him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For rescuing me?” Sam murmured, thumb brushing across Gabriel’s knuckles.

Gabriel lifted a shoulder. “For not getting there sooner. For letting you think I was dead this whole time—not that I had much of a choice about that part.”

Sam leaned over. Gabriel’s lips were soft, half-open in surprise as Sam kissed him. He tasted like melted honey and sunshine, warm and sweet.

When they separated, Gabriel swallowed a few times, his hand still in Sam’s, his eyes looking a little dazed.

Sam lay back against the hood, gazing up at the night sky, and after a moment, Gabriel settled next to him, close enough that Sam could feel his body heat, and Sam smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm leaving this open because I can sort of see an actual plot developing for this one, so I shall just say this--Gabriel is _not_ Sully, but he did send him. If I continue this story, I'll make that clear in text.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) and say hi!


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